


Dark Angel

by AvaRosier



Series: The Badlands [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe: Dystopian, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 01:24:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4687154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kira heads down into the slums, intent on vengeance.  (From Halsey's "Control")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Angel

**Author's Note:**

> The Badlands are a series of drabbles, somewhat interconnected yet out of order. Time hardly matters in them, because they go nowhere.

_And all the kids cried out,_

_"Please stop, you're scaring me"_

_I can't help this awful energy_

_Goddamn right, you should be scared of me_

_Who is in control?_

 

* * *

 

 

Tonight, Kira strolls through the Slums. It’s full of abandoned warehouses and crumbling plaster walls; but it’s far better than lying in her bed in the place that will never be home, feeling the rage and helplessness rattle around in her bones, threatening to implode and consume her.

It seems like it’s perpetually rainy here, which only exacerbates the acrid stink in the air.  _Watch where you step_ , the locals would tell her if they were inclined to give a damn,  _you never know when you’ll be walking into industrial runoff_.

The near-mismatched but well-kept clothes that are her trademark—skirts over tights above bright sneakers—are gone. Tonight is for the tight black pants tucked into tall black boots; for the leather jacket that isn’t zipped up, revealing the dark pink crop top underneath. The shiny belt that isn’t really a belt when it’s not being used as a belt, beckons under the harsh yellow lights.

They’ll think her an easy mark.

The street affectionately called ‘Skid Row’ is full of bars and seedy night-clubs and god only knew what else. Kira steps up to the curb, hands stuffed into the pockets of her jacket, and makes steady eye contact with the bouncer of the club she isn’t bothered to learn the name of.

She doesn’t want to know what he sees in her face, behind her eyes. He lets her cross the threshold all the same.

The bass rattles her bones, setting her free, and the atmosphere is dark and dank with smoke. The floor, which must barely ever be mopped, is sticky from spilled syrupy drinks. Kira heads down the stairs, intermittently caught in the moving neon beams, and makes a beeline for the bar. It’s just crowded enough for her purposes; many of the patrons are grinding purposefully away on the dance floor in the center, teetering on the edge of oblivion.

“What can I get you?” The bartender asks, the motion of his mouth making the neon green lipstick he was wearing sparkle.

“Four shots of vodka should get me started,” She tells him. He raises an eyebrow, but a man in his occupation isn’t about to turn down cold hard cash. People aren’t in the habit of caring about others in the Slums.

“Eight dollars, and they’ll be coming right up.”

He lines the smudged shotglasses in a row before her on the scuffed wooden counter and proceeds to fill them to overflowing with the clear liquid. She pays him, eyes not leaving the wobbling glasses. Four shots: one for each person she will avenge.

She pinches the first, wet shotglass in between her thumb and forefinger and tosses it back, not letting the alcohol rest on her tongue before sending it sliding like a river of fire down her throat. It burns too much to breathe for several seconds and Kira is grateful for this slumhole club not supplying anything better than the shittiest quality liquor. Just the rough stuff.

That one is for Boyd. The second, for Erica. The third, Malia. The final, for Scott.

Her head swims now, lolling on top of her suddenly weak neck. Her fingers and her lips already feel the numbing effects of the alcohol. This is what she had been after, to not feel. Thoughts begin to scatter, altogether interested in the fascinating effort it takes to do the most basic things like remain upright on the stool.

It passes within minutes.

 _Lethe_. That’s the name of the bar, she remembers it now. But she hadn’t come all the way down here to forget.

The Slums, by dint of being out of the watchful eye of the Citadel’s overseers, is the perfect place for the kings and queens of the underworld to do their business.

She spots her quarry within ten minutes. He’s hard to miss, not with the crowd parting before him as if he were Lucifer, and they daren’t not lay eyes upon him lest they be dragged down to Hell. And there were worse places to fall than Lethe.

She watches him out the corner of her eye, as he shakes hands with another man and they exchange goodbyes. He always exits out the back, Aiden had told her that much before he died. Her skin grows cold even before she is exposed to the night air, before her nostrils are hit by the stench of rotting garbage.

Kira tracks Deucalion’s wiry build until she willfully gives away her advantage by unlinking her belt. The metallic clink echoes in the alley, causing the man before her to halt, stiffen, and slowly turn around to face her.

She watches him as he witnesses the loose metallic components of her belt straighten out into a sword. He scoffs, disbelieving. It would insult Kira if it weren’t what she had expected when she walked out her front door over an hour ago. It doesn’t matter that he knows who she is now, because he’s never going to tell anyone.

“Seriously? You’re the vigilante everyone’s quaking in their boots over? You’ve got to be what, a buck-twenty soaking wet.”

What Deucalion doesn’t understand is that her rage makes her so much bigger. Kira moves quick, so quick he’s entirely unprepared for the way she swings the sword down and over in a rapid arc, slicing into the meat of his tendon.

He cries out in shock and pain, falling to his knees. The monster who had taken Scott away, and he’s just as human as them all. Kira’s lungs feel like they’re about to burst as she turns all her dark thoughts into fat ribbons of blood across his skin.

She stops to gulp in oxygen, giving him time to try to crawl away. Kira can see from the width of his eyes, which are nearly blacked out by his pupils, that he’s in shock.

“Why are you doing this? There are worse than me in this city! They’re the ones who made me!” He wheezes, a shaky hand reaching out for mercy.

She knows, it’s just not enough.

“Are you scared?” She sees the trembling way his Adam’s apple bobs. “Good. You should be.”

In the seconds after she brings her sword down into his heart and feels Deucalion still around the blade, Kira feels calm. The fury in her fades.

This, her vengeance, it isn’t her losing control when she lets the demons inside her out. This is her wresting control back from the people who had taken it away from not just her, but the people she loved.


End file.
